By Laura Newsome
Halfway through the interview, during a question about what compels someone
to put their own life in danger for others, a wave of static and loud beeping
begins to sound from a small black device on the belt of Joe McNamara, D.C.
Without blinking, McNamara goes silent, removes the beeper from his waist and
places it on the table. He listens for a moment and then switches the call off.
The nearly unintelligible jabber on the other end of the transmitter is signaling
a fire in north Forsyth County, far away from his own call zone.
Several times a day McNamara and his family are roused by these calls for help.
Many would find such interruptions to be an annoyance; fortunately, Joe McNamara
is not like most of us. With little regard for his own safety or convenience,
McNamara frequently gets in his car and drives toward the same fires other people
are running away from. This is the life McNamara has chosen for himself; he
is a man of action—a first responder.
Long before he discovered his life’s calling to be a chiropractor or a
firefighter, McNamara grew up in Mahopac Falls, a sleepy town in the Catskills,
surrounded by the craggy cliffs and picturesque rivers of New York’s Hudson
River Valley. The son of an engineer and one of 11 children, McNamara and four
of his older brothers decided to join Mahopac’s all-volunteer fire department
when they were in high school. The experience was one of excitement and trial
by fire—literally. “The first fire I went to I had absolutely no
training and they had to help me put the gear on,” he says. “I was
17, and they threw me out the door—it was a very uncomfortable feeling.”
Working alongside his brothers, McNamara fondly remembers the unique bond of
trust that developed between him and his brothers, and smiles when he recalls
one particular incident that took place during a training fire.His brother Danny
realized too late that a car had been cleverly rigged with explosives, which
ended up harmlessly exploding in front of him. “There was a lot of camaraderie
and I enjoyed doing it while I could and I thought that when I settled down
after college that I would like to get back into it,” says McNamara.
High school was also the time when McNamara discovered his other passion. “My
mom used to bring me to the chiropractor for an ear problem and a back problem
that developed during sports, and it always made me feel better, and I thought,
‘I would enjoy doing this.’” After college McNamara moved
to Atlanta and attended Life University and later the Carrick Institute for
graduate studies in clinical neurology. As a chiropractic neurologist, McNamara
uses cutting- edge neurology to work on patients without drugs. Working with
the eyes, the joints and adjustments, McNamara uses functional MRIs and various
methods of stimulus to strengthen weak areas of the brain and improve left and
right balance. Patients with a variety of conditions, from back problems and
vertigo, to tremors, depression and carpal tunnel syndrome, come to Dr. McNamara’s
relatively small and intensely personal practice in northern metro Atlanta.
“He really looked at everything,” says TCL publisher Craig Dekshenieks,
a patient and long-time friend. “He took my vitals, tested my reflexes
and my balance, and it felt much more like a complete wellness exam as compared
to anything I ever received from an M.D. I think he is very patient and sincere,
and he has excellent bedside manner.”
After settling in Cumming, a north Atlanta suburb, in 1997, McNamara trained
and began working alongside the men of Cumming’s Fire Station 10. In his
first year on the job, he estimates that he ran close to 300 calls, many of
which were house fires caused by lightening and felled trees in what was still
a very rural part of metro Atlanta. During one such fire, McNamara came very
close to electrocution as he was fighting a fire inside a steel shed with a
live power line running through the floor. “There is an action in it,”
says McNamara of firefighting, “an adrenaline rush in helping people and
being the first one on the scene. Running into a burning building helps you
work past your fears, stay focused and be cool under pressure. And, you are
also doing the community a great service.” Two of McNamara’s brothers
also agree with his philosophy—they are still fighting fires in New York,
one as a volunteer captain and the other a volunteer chief in Fishkill.
Although every call is potentially life threatening, McNamara says he has only
felt true danger a few times, including once when he was fighting a blaze from
inside a building and the sheetrock ceiling gave way and fell on top of him.
“Every time you go in, you try to minimize the danger by always falling
back on your training. Your brain says ‘don’t do this,’ but
it’s part of your job,” McNamara says. “When we’re trying
to put a fire out, 95 to 98 percent of the time there is nobody that you’re
saving because everyone has already gotten out of the house.” Nevertheless,
firefighting is grueling work.
Wearing a beeper at all times, McNamara is roused at all hours of the day to
the sounds of potential tragedy, and when he isn’t with patients or his
children, McNamara dons the 40 pounds of gear that awaits inside his car, races
toward the scene, only to find himself battling flames often exceeding 1,000
degrees with heavy hoses pumping out water at unimaginable pressures.
In the nearly 10 years since McNamara moved to Cumming, the city has grown so
much that it now has a paid fire department with 150 full-time professionals
who enlist the help of volunteers whenever they are available. “It’s
become more difficult with kids,” McNamara says. “I haven’t
run as many calls because the need in Forsyth has decreased and they have more
people for really bad calls, but I try to do what I can.” Since he began
his work as a volunteer firefighter, McNamara and his wife Karen, a nutrition
specialist, have had three new additions to their family—8-year-old Liam,
6-year-old Shealyn and 2-year-old son Riley. Despite all the newfound responsibilities
that come with a burgeoning family, McNamara still tries to run between two
and three firefighting calls a week. “My wife has her own business, so
sometimes I stay at home to watch the kids when she works,” says McNamara,
whose chiropractic office is open three days a week and half of Saturday. “If
I wasn’t self employed, it would be very difficult to have the flexibility
to do what I do.”
These days, McNamara and his family live in a white home with a broad front
porch that looks like it could easily belong in the New England of his childhood,
except for the unmistakable stand of Georgia pines that surrounds the property.
McNamara is a thin, quiet man with expressive eyes—not the kind of man
who would rattle off his achievements or his personal manifesto. With the tinge
of a New York accent, and a slight southern quality that has seeped into his
speech after so many years in the South, he is matter-of-fact about everything,
even running into burning buildings. Although he says he’s never given
it much thought, McNamara concedes that there are a lot of similarities between
his life as a chiropractor and his calling as a firefighter; “With chiropractic
you’re helping people feel better, and with firefighting, you’re
hopefully helping people feel better—or at least their houses. It’s
all connected.”
McNamara is quick to link his altruistic impulses with the selfless nurturing
of his parents. “My parents cared deeply about helping others and instilled
in us that desire to help,” he says. But those who know McNamara personally
credit his achievements with his strong character. “He’s a genuine,
sincere and selfless person, and I think there is truly just an altruism about
him,” Dekshenieks says.
While many others only think about helping, McNamara puts his thoughts into
action. During the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, McNamara and
other dedicated volunteers flew down to a largely neglected area of coastal
Mississippi, where they spent three days going door to door, looking for survivors
among the stagnant waters and debris.
Evidence of McNamara’s heroism can be seen throughout his house—in
the battered fire helmets that drape over the ends of his mantle, in a colorful
collection of patches that document his years of dedicated service, and in a
prominent painting of the New York City skyline as seen from the Brooklyn Bridge,
which has a special significance for McNamara, beyond what can be imagined by
those who have never fought a fire. In the wake of Sept. 11, while collecting
money for the families of the lost firefighters, McNamara distinctly remembers
one particular woman who came up to him, her face covered in tears, and thanked
him profusely for his heroic work. “Up until [9/11], people really didn’t
think about the dangers involved in firefighting,” he says. “It’s
unfortunate that 9/11 had to occur for that to happen.”
McNamara admits that his passion does have a real impact on the community around
him, and that, although different, fire-fighters are all cut from the same mold.
“There’s a dedication there that I don’t think you can understand
unless you’re doing it,” he says. “Not everyone can do this
job; there’s a fear factor involved that some people can’t get over.
It’s not for everyone; it takes a unique individual—I don’t
know if that’s a good or a bad thing.”
McNamara says he hopes to continue his double life as long as neurological adjustments
and fighting fires can easily be ‘all in a day’s work.’ “I’ll
keep doing it until I can’t physically do it anymore, or unless they decide
to do away with volunteer firefighters, which I hope will never happen.”
The driving force behind McNamara’s dedication may always remain somewhat
of a mystery, but friends like Dekshenieks believe it’s just part of who
he is: “Firefighting is very much a part of his life, and his passion
just happens to be a second job that he does out of the goodness of his heart.”